Forget Me Not
by be bright
Summary: It's been five years since he last saw her and two since they spoke. Now Ash is finally visiting Cerulean City to see the girl he should have never left behind... AAML
1. Psychobabble

The man watched her sadly as she closed her store for the night. He imagined hearing her kitten heels _click-click-click_ as she walked around to check her flowers once more, her skirt quietly rustling as she moved. She disappeared into the back, where the other flowers were kept in that big fridge, he thought, and he could see her gently touching petals and leaves.  
He turned to face the steering wheel and smacked his forehead on it a few times. He shook his head at himself and sighed. "Ash Ketchum, you idiot," he muttered, "Why don't you just talk to her?"  
_Well, it's not that easy, _Ash's conscience spoke up, _you _do _remember not contacting her for a whole two years, right?_

And he groaned, thinking about the predicament he was in.

So here sat pathetic Ash Ketchum, talking to himself, but hardly making a sound lest Misty Williams, whom he had parted with five years ago and stopped talking to for two (_the biggest mistake of my life_), hear him breathing from across the street. Yes, he _was_ secretly watching her—he had been for a while. Ash had purposely been avoiding Cerulean City for two whole years, but this summer, he decided he _had_ to go.  
When Ash tracked Misty down at her florist shop (okay, so he had already _known _she'd been working there…he had done some research!), he couldn't summon enough courage to walk inside, so he didn't. He stayed outside to watch her from inside his car.

The first day, he stayed for thirty minutes. He watched her work with her customers. He watched her smile.  
The next day, he stayed a little longer. He loved the way her eyes twinkled when she laughed, the way her hair swayed when it was down.  
Today was the seventh day. Ash checked his watch.

_Three hours. Pathetic._

A light jingle coming from his left interrupted his thoughts. Ash jerked his head in the direction of the store again: the door was closed! She was coming out!  
Panicked, he fumbled for his keys but couldn't get them into the stupid keyhole. Ash slid lower into his seat as she turned from the door; despite it being seven in the evening, the hot summer sun was still out. Although Ash wasn't the only person in the street (the street he was on, in fact, was one of Cerulean's busiest streets), he couldn't help but suspect that she would see him anyway. Ash unconsciously held his breath as he watched her look around and get into her small red car.

She was breathtaking.

As Misty drove away, Ash relaxed into his seat, breathing deeply.

_I need help._

--

Back in the safety of his hotel room (_she definitely can't hear me breathing __here_), Ash haphazardly kicked his shoes off and collapsed on the bed. He closed his eyes and thought of, well, Misty. He visualised her soft hair around her delicate face, her sweet smile…

Embarrassingly, but predictably (after all, he _was _practically an "adult" now), his thoughts about Misty kept travelling until her got to her legs: her smooth legs around his waist, lips wet across his neck, his hand on her bare back—  
**RING!  
**Ash yelled in surprise and his head spun from sitting up too quickly. He grabbed the phone and cursed at the caller: it was just getting good! "Hello!" he yelled into the phone, and a sheepish expression took over his face.

_Oh, hey, Mom. No, everything's fine—I wasn't shouting! Okay, I'm sorry. I'm okay. How's Pikachu? Uh huh. He did what? Oh…yeah, I guess he's gotten used to that…_ He then turned a darker shade of pink. _Yes…_yes_, Mom, they're clean. Yeah, I have enough. I'm fine, Mom! I'm twenty-one now! I'll call you later, all right? Okay, love you too. Yup. Bye._

Ash closed his cell phone and shook his head. He _had_ asked Pikachu, who was currently staying at his mother's house, if he wanted to tag along with him. When he asked, Pikachu's face took on a mischievous expression, and 

he challenged Ash: _Nah…why don't you bring her back?_ So after some flustered replies from Ash and more impish comments from Pikachu, he decided to go alone. Sure, he'd miss Pikachu, but knew the little rat would create _some _sort of pandemonium if he came along, anyway.  
One thing he was glad his mother did not mention was the only thing that always occupied his mind: Misty. Delia knew—and he was aware of this—that he went to Cerulean to see Misty. She had long given up on reprimanding him for not contacting her, but she still had her own way of hinting at it.

There was something else...  
Ash reached into his pocket a pulled out a wrinkled, but treasured (and equally feared), slip of paper. When Ash told Brock he was going to Cerulean (_Finally!_, Brock had exclaimed with the hugest grin, clapping him on the back), Brock had hurriedly scribbled something on a piece of paper and slipped it in his hand. When Ash asked what it was, Brock turned around to leave with a smirk. Ash then opened the paper to find ten numbers scribbled in pen, and he recognised the first three digits. It was Cerulean City's area code: Misty's telephone number.

For the thousandth time, Ash's eyes glazed across the numbers on the paper—he had memorised it already.  
_Come on,_ his conscience urged, _just do it! Being hung up on will hurt less than being slapped, right?_ Ash winced at the thought. _Not really._

It had been two entire years without speaking to Misty. How did he do it? _Why?_ Ash sighed. It was because of that stupid girl. What was her name again? Bridget? Beatrice? Dammit, he didn't even remember. When he and Misty parted five years ago, they had kept in touch for three years with letters, phone calls, emails…and after he had won the tournament, he met the curvy, dark-haired Bridget/Beatrice. Being a completely dense idiot (it was the only valid excuse he could think of), he fell into her trap. When Bridget/Beatrice found out about Misty, she was jealous and somehow got him to erase all means of communication with her—he deleted all their emails, removed her number from wherever it was kept, and threw away most of her letters and pictures. When the Bitch-Monster (Brock's affectionate nickname for the girl) dumped him, he didn't have the courage to talk to Misty again.

While he was involved with Bridget/Beatrice, he never won another tournament. And for two years, he lived in regret.

"Screw it," Ash said suddenly, and took out his cell phone. He dialed the numbers slowly and carefully, waiting for the ring.  
The phone rang.  
His heart beat a little faster in his chest.  
It rang a second time.  
_This is it!_

--

The doors of the Cerulean City gym _whooshed_ as a young red head walked in, her phone between her ear and her shoulder.

_Hello? Brock! What's up? How's the wifey? Uh huh…today was fine…why do you ask? No…nothing out of the ordinary. Although there was this one girl who just _wouldn't _stop_—_what? Be prepared for what? Brock, are you drunk? Hello? Okay, fine. Okay! Later. _

Misty snapped her phone shut and called out, "I'm ho-ome!" Some of her Pokémon responded with splashes in the pool and she chuckled. _My only true friends, eh?  
_Where were her sisters?  
_My sisters. _Five years ago, she had to leave Ash to take care of the gym (_Oh no, I'm thinking about him again_) because her sisters had to go on some dumb world tour or something. Three years later, he stopped contacting her (_something about some girl named Bitch-Monster? Oh...that's what Brock called her..._), and she was too hurt and confused to try to fix it.

"Daisy? Lil? Violet?" Misty called once again, her voice reverberating through the gym.

Then, the phone rang. Loudly.  
Misty jumped and squeaked, "Who could be calling _now?_"  
Another ring sounded as she neared the phone. After the third ring, she picked it up.



"Hello?" she said. She barely heard it—a gasp?  
"Hell_-oo?_" she repeated, her patience dwindling. God, did she hate prank calls.

--

Another ring.  
_Maybe I should hang up…  
_"Hello?"  
Ash drew in his breath.  
_Her voice…_

And he hung up.


	2. Not Your Typical People

HELLO! If you've read the original first chapter, I'll just let you know that I made some minor changes to the first chapter (just changing some adverbs, moving some commas around, blah blah)...nothing important, though. Er, I hope I didn't make any major changes and forget about it. Hahaha.

OKAY COMMENCE STORY

* * *

Ash paced around his hotel room, pausing only to look out the window. The sky was seemed suddenly full with grey clouds.

After hearing her voice (even if it was just an annoyed "hello") had made part of—well, okay, _most _of him want to walk all the damn way to Misty's door and sweep the girl into his arms with a brilliant kiss.  
Then the smaller part of him wanted to walk to the nearest pub and drink till he was unconscious.

But before he knew it, he was out of his room, down the stairs, and on the quiet streets of Cerulean City at night. What was he doing?!

"_What are you doing?!_" he hissed at himself.  
He didn't drive because he probably would have run into a tree or a fire hydrant or a person in his anxiousness; he didn't stay in his room because he probably would have gone to the bar and woken up naked with some girl he wouldn't have remembered meeting. He just _had _to see Misty.  
_What time is it?_ He checked his watch. _8:00…not too late to grab a cup of coffee, right? Or—or tea, if she doesn't drink coffee. Or maybe a smoothie…?_

Ash wondered where these thoughts came from; although he might've been a courageous fighter on the battlefield with Pokémon, he was no warrior in the battlefield of love. The only reason, he had to admit, that he'd scored with girls previous was because he was, well, famous. Granted, he wasn't famous enough to be constantly stalked by paparazzi, but was definitely famous enough to be stopped on the street by hot girls every once in a while. Ash knew their intentions, though (hot, kinky sex with Mr. Almost-Pokémon-Master, and a good story about it), and didn't want to be reduced to some kind of man-whore. As cheesy and cliché as it was (_I'm practically made of cheese and clichés,_ he mused), he compared every girl he met to the red-headed force of nature he used to know well.

It started to rain a warm, summery rain (Ash cursed. He had forgotten about the summer showers in Cerulean); now there was really no turning back.  
He picked up his pace to a steady jog because it was beginning to rain harder, and he thought about how ridiculous he'd look when Misty saw him, drenched in his shirt and jeans.

_Or maybe I'll look mysterious and sexy,_ he joked in the back of his mind.

--

It was interesting how, when upon seeing a lost face, Misty could suddenly recall memories she hadn't come close to in years: the chorus of crunchy leaves under three pairs of shoes, skipping stones on the watery reflection of the full moon, his always-dirty socks, her old red shoes…

Misty remembered all these things and more when she opened the door to see Ash Ketchum.

It was extremely awkward and silent for a while before Ash offered a timid "Uh, hi." Misty could only blink in astonishment, still silent as her wide eyes traveled up and down Ash's body, making him shift his weight unsurely.

Misty realized she was staring and jumped.  
"Oh! Oh, you're wet. Um, come inside." Ash stepped into the gym, comforted by its slightly drier and cooler atmosphere. Misty disappeared into a room and reappeared with two bath towels; Ash received it with a meek "thanks" and followed her into the kitchen.

More awkward silence.

"Frankly, Ash, if it wasn't raining and if you weren't soaked, I might have closed that door on you." She chuckled dryly and opened the refrigerator door. "Want some orange juice?" It seemed to strange to Misty that she was talking to Ash so casually—she was offering him a glass of _orange juice, _for goodness sake, when the typical thing to say would have been "How are you" or "Where the hell were you all this time?!"  
Then again, Misty and Ash weren't your "typical" people.

"Uh, sure. Thanks." Ash thought it strange, too, that Misty had not decapitated and/or slammed the door on him. He almost didn't want to drink the orange juice anymore, in case it was poisoned or something. The glass was already in front of him, though, and the fresh, cool drink was a welcome relief. Misty sat down at the small table they were standing by, and Ash followed suit, slipping into the chair opposite hers.

The two of them were quiet for a while, listening to the rain outside but really thinking about each other. Questions upon questions upon questions raced through Misty's mind—and she was very confused. Why wasn't she angry at him anymore? Wasn't she supposed to be bitter? She had thought about this moment—about Ash coming back to say sorry or something—for a very long time. It went down like this: Her doorbell would ring one pleasant sunny afternoon while she was eating lunch, and she would open it to find the one and only Ash Ketchum standing there, maybe with a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand. He would offer her the bouquet with a humble smile—but she wouldn't take it! No, sir! She would rip the bouquet out of his hands and destroy it, yell something obscene and biting, kick him in the crotch (or decapitate him, maybe), and slam the door shut. Then she would return to her lunch and eat as if he wasn't out there.

It wasn't a pleasant, sunny afternoon, though—it was raining. And it was past 8 at night. He had no bouquet—he was a little scraggly and looked tired—and, for some reason, he looked a little sexy out there in the rain. What was he doing here? How long would he stay? Why did he come?

Ash cleared his throat to begin, drawing Misty out of her tumultuous thoughts.  
"I'm, uh. I'm sorry."  
Misty blinked at him, still not really believing that the grown man sitting across from her was really Ash.  
He gulped some cold orange juice down for courage. "I'm sorry. You know, for, uh…disappearing. For a really long time. It was that girl—no, I can't totally blame her. I just…I don't know, Myst."—he mentally kicked himself, her heart clenched—"_Misty._ I guess I was just so scared and ashamed and embarrassed. You knew me well, and I just didn't want to face you after all the crap I got myself into." It was a strange, almost naïve question to ask, but Ash felt compelled to ask it anyway.  
"Are we still friends?"  
He was talking to his glass of orange juice the whole time, really (it helped him be honest). He didn't want to meet Misty's eyes while he was talking—he was afraid of what emotions or hopes or fears might come out of the contact—but after he was finished he found a little string of courage to lift his head with.

Their eyes met with a silent _click_.  
Misty had been looking at Ash's face the whole time; she was only able to do so because he wasn't returning her gaze. But when he finally looked up at her—honest, sincere, waiting (his voice had all those things, too)—she felt like crying. And she almost did. Her nose stung a little and she could feel the wetness collecting at the bottom of her eyes. She wondered if Ash could see it, too.

"Ah," Misty said, _her _eyes dropping this time, "Well. Since I've taken you in and given you a glass of orange juice, I guess that makes us friends, right?" Their eyes clicked again. Ash was still looking at her with the same honesty and sincerity, only he looked a little more pained this time. Maybe he didn't want a half-joke.  
She smiled a little, letting out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh. _Unclick._ "It's weird, Ash. I think I—I've set up these scenes in my head where you come over and apologize to me, kind of like what you're doing now, and in that scene I reject you and hate you and stuff. But, I dunno. I don't think we ever stopped being friends…I mean, I think we're the same people, right? Just a little beat up?" One final click. Ash looked relieved and laughed because he was about to make himself look like a fool; he knew it.

"I've, uh. I've been here. In Cerulean. For a week now. I've kind of been…watchingyoufromoutsideyourstore." He thought about pausing to look at Misty but decided against it. "Not—not in a creepy way, though! I mean, I guess I haven't really been _watching _you, but I've just been trying to—" He was cut short by Misty's burst of laughter. He could only look upon the redhead with surprise. Was she seriously _laughing _at him? _Well,_ he reminded himself, _you _knew_ you were going to make a fool out of yourself, Ketchum._

"You've—" (Misty took a deep breath to calm herself down) "—you've been stalking me."

"NO. No! I said 'not in a creepy way'!"

"But you were watching me, _sitting outside my store_. I think that qualifies as stalking. How long were you sitting out there?" His face was flushed. "Oh my God. Ash Ketchum, you're _stalking_ me." She began laughing again and took Ash's empty glass. "More orange juice?"

"No thanks, I'm good. And you know," he said, a little annoyed but mostly amused, "It's really not that funny."

"Oh, but it _is_," she snorted. She couldn't stop laughing, and soon enough Ash began to laugh, too, matching her giddiness. _We must sound like lunatics, _Misty thought as she stood at the sink, shoulders shaking and eyes shining from almost delirious laughter.

"I wanted—I wanted to take you out for coffee or something. At 8 in the evening," he sighed, stomach tight from his laughing fit. "And then it started raining. Typical, right?" Misty drew back the curtains from the window above the sink.

"Well, it's stopped now. I could go for some 'coffee or something' right now." She smiled at him, a genuine smile. "But…your clothes." Ash looked down at himself, and, sure enough, his jeans were still wet from the rain. His shirt was dry, though. "Why were you out in the rain? You didn't drive here? Where are you staying?"

"Ha, um. I'm staying at the Seaside Hotel—which, by the way, is _not _by the seaside. What's up with _that_? And, uh, I didn't drive because…I wasn't expecting the rain, and I needed to clear my head."

"Well, unless you want to stop by your hotel room, I've got some sweats lying around that I think will fit you. They're clean and new. Don't ask," she called, for she had already left the kitchen halfway though her sentence, probably to retrieve said sweats. She entered the room again with a neatly folded pair of grey sweatpants in hand. "I'm not sure what you're going to do about your boxers, though—or is it a thong, because that probably would have dried already."

"Ha _ha_," Ash said, rolling his eyes. "They're _boxers,_ thanks very much, and I'll dry them with that…thing you girls use to dry your hair with. Got one? Or do you not need one because you're wearing a wig?"

"Touché!" Misty's eyebrows rose with amusement. "I'm proud, Ashy-boy. You've learned much about verbal battles since I last saw you—but you'll never beat me. Follow me, I'll show you where the _blowdryer _is."

--

Twenty minutes later, and Ash was all dried up and comfortable in a fresh pair of sweatpants.

"It's nine now," Ash said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Still wanna go?" _It's still so surreal, _Ash thought, _to be standing here with her._

"Yep," Misty answered from a inside a walk-in closet. She emerged, grinning like a little girl, with two yellow ponchos in hand. "Got these for the trip! Just in case, ya know. I wanna walk there. You okay with that? Meh, it doesn't matter if you're not, we're walking there anyway." Everything was so quick and sudden—her words, the poncho being shoved into his hands—that Ash simply donned the shiny yellow cloak and followed the girl outside.

"Daise, Lil, and Vee are somewhere for the weekend," Misty said with a wave of her hand. "They're taking care of the gym now, although I'm sure that in your stalkerness you already know that." Ash scoffed, but she was half right: he _did_ know, but it was Brock who delivered the news.

Small talk. Their friendship was reduced to small talk. _Well, maybe you don't have to adopt such a glum outlook on things, _Misty thought. _Stupid weather. Besides, you're just…trying to make things a little lighter. Yeah, making things lighter._

They both fell silent, lost in thoughts. Misty could imagine the view of both of them from the back: two bright yellow figures, brighter under the occasional streetlight, walking together at a good distance for acquaintances. Ash glanced over at Misty, whose eyes were glazed over in memories. He had the stupidest inclination—not to kiss her, not to make love to her, but to simply hold her hand. He took extra caution (and he was sure she did as well) to reserve a space between them big enough so that they would not accidentally touch, but now he was beginning to miss the warmth of her hugs, the scent of her shampoo. Ash was sad now, because despite the laughs and the smiles they had shared in the hour, he could still feel something wedged between them—it was definitely larger than the physical space between them.

"Ash, I'm getting married." Misty said suddenly, and Ash stopped dead in his tracks.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow! It's a miracle! I have a second chapter up! So yeah, while I was writing this chapter, I was squeezing my brains out, trying to think of something that would shake things up. Okay, okay, I know the shaker is not unique at all, but what else could be less cliche? Dying of cancer? World's gonna end? Worry not, I'll shape this runt of a story into a big, fat masterpiece! (-cough-YEAHRIGHT)  
Mm, thanks for reading, and please, if you have any _constructive _criticism, constructively critique away! PLEASETHANKS. (Seriously, I need all the advice I can get. -looks at you better writers with shiny eyes-)

Next update will be in another year! (Ha ha, joking...maybe...)


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